


Leave Me to Drown

by Cornster



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Cutting, Depression, Drabble, M/M, Yearning, getting physically sick, unhealthy longing, unhealthy relationship, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-30 18:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1021722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornster/pseuds/Cornster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack missed the Boogeyman. But it isn't right. It doesn't feel right. It makes him down right sick and a dark seed curls inside him that the man had planted deep within him. He wants Pitch Black so badly he gets physically sick and the only was to find any solace at night is taking of the blade and cutting into his marred flesh. Does Pitch realizing just what he does to the youth?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave Me to Drown

**Author's Note:**

> This oneshot contains use of cutting oneself, vomiting, and unhealthy relationship feels. If you are easily triggered please do not read! Thank you!
> 
> To others enjoy. I was listening to this track while writing it along with my own mixture of loneliness and yearning for my Pitch rper.   
> http://8tracks.com/marynelli/leave-me-to-drown

Jack laid looking up at the ceiling. A lonely aching lodged deep into his chest. His breathed slow through his nose and clenched the blanket he was under. The darkness reminded him of the man he was missing most. It was his signature, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

Not from hate, but from the lack of being near him. Jack fell hard for his enemy. But was he really his enemy? Sure, he tried to make his nightmares rule over all else. Other than that one stunt, it didn’t make sense why he was so hated. Wasn’t fear a necessary part of learning?

It was, but that’s not why he was wanting that fear right now. He wanted to wrap himself in Pitch’s arms, fitting his cold body against the lanky figure. Like a puzzle piece that wasn’t suppose to fit, but ended up doing it despite all odds. He wanted to feel his kisses against his neck, the hands ghosting in exploration over his body, the whispering of forbidden promises, eyes that bore through him. He welcomed the darkness. Opening something aphotic that filled his very being. It coursed through his dead veins making him sick with yearning and companionship for Pitch.

Sometimes he couldn’t find the energy to enjoy the things he typically loved because of it. He would take up the blade. He would feel such forlorn he would get physically. Those where one of those nights.

His body shook as tears wrecked his body. Choking sobs, crying out for the shade. He felt like he was drowning. His cry was ugly and loud. He didn’t care who hard him; but, that was a lie, in the back of his mind he did. His stomach churned with stress, with longing. Quickly he leaned over the side of his bed. Spilling out the content of the last meal he had. His throat hurt from puking, but it didn’t stop until he was left dry heaving. He cried harder. His heart hurt.

Dry heaving hurt. His head hurt. His stomach hurt. His wrists hurt. Craving hurt. 

All he wanted was Pitch.

He gripped his left arm hard. Feeling the years worth of scars that adorned it. His eye twitched. Slowly he took out the old blade under his pillow. Holding it up Jack stared at the cold piece of metal. It was hideous to look at. But it brought him such solace. Temporary relief. But that’s all it ever did. He felt disgusted yet content when he looked upon the item.

Will he cut again? Does he want to cut again? Yes. 

He took the blade and pressed his fingertip on the sharp side. Biting painfully into his finger the familiar feel of flesh splitting; numbed his mind only just. Jack chewed the inside of his lip. He took his small weapon and placed it against his inner thigh.

Jack’s breathing sped up. Pitch. Pitch. Pitch. His name running like a broken record in his head. His heart felt like it was going to burst. His lungs burned as the anxiety spread. With shaking hands Jack slowly he ran the blade deep into his skin. No blood flowed through his frozen veins.

The blinding pain caused him to focus on the now, not on the who that made him feel the way he did.

After the first cut it gave him more confident for another cut. After the fifth time I was easer. After the tenth, excruciating cut, he was left breathing through the wanted pain. He put the blade back under his pillow with steadier hands. Feeling the pain in his thigh he ghosted over the sting. His mind numb to anything else. He prodded the angry flesh. Relishing in the sensation.

Jack laid back down. Letting his eyes fall shut and a dreamless sleep dragged him into oblivion. Pitch a distant thought pushed to the edge of his mind for the time being. Feeling slightly better than before.


End file.
